Sworn to Protect

by A K August

  Unfortunately, as much as I felt Lofton duped the Wolverine family, they did buy into the plan of blowing up bridges and gathered enough explosives to pull it off, so some of them would be doing time. As long as Lofton was put in prison too, I’d have to call it a win.

  It was hard. I spent months with them, living around and among them, sharing stories, dreams. I couldn’t help but care about them, but I would need to testify, and when they realized who I was, that would sever any connection. They would be angry and I needed to steel myself not to be affected by that in court. I had to start now by cutting the cord and remember why I do this job.

  Why do I do this job?

  CHAPTER TWO

  KATIE

  I sat slumped on my sofa, a half-eaten pint of Chunky Monkey melting in my hands, my camera equipment next to me on the floor. After I fainted in the hospital and the doctors verified I was okay, I wasn’t sure what to do. I remembered I left my equipment at the hotel, so I went back to collect it, thankful the hotel personnel hadn’t moved it, as things tended to break when you don’t have experience with the gear. I brought everything home, got the ice cream from the freezer, and sat on the sofa.

  That was hours ago and I still didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t heard anything from the Senator’s office and didn’t think it was appropriate for me to call them with the news. I got the interview, it was still in the camera when I picked it up, so if I called Criterion they would be ecstatic with the scoop – the last interview given by Jonathan Colby, see it here. I could picture it on the website now. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t even know if I could watch it knowing what was to follow. I shivered and set the ice cream down on the coffee table, pulling a blanket over me instead. The warmth was probably better. Perhaps a bath would clear my head.

  A ringing thankfully gave me something to do and I threw open my front door to see a man and a woman standing on the stoop. Conservatively dressed in suit coats, jeans, and sensible shoes, I pegged them as cops. “Can I help you, officers?”

  The man wore a paisley tie that had a small bite taken out of it. How does that happen, I wonder.

  “Are you Katherine Corcoran?”

  “I am.”

  I looked to the woman her long dark hair pulled back, clean face, a runner’s body. I could tell, I ran track through high school and even went to state a couple of years.

  “We’re here to talk to you about Jonathan Colby.” Her voice had a hard edge to it like she was mad about something. I looked back at the man as he shifted his feet. Yeah, he was in the doghouse.

  “What about? I barely knew him.” I continued to observe them. There was hesitancy to their words and behavior that put me on guard.

  “Can we come in?” The woman shouldered her way closer to my door, flashing her partner an evil eye that had him take a step back.

  I held my ground. “Why?” I asked.

  The woman seemed taken aback and had to stop her forward momentum, her brain thinking I had welcomed them into my space. “Why?” She was still reeling, her anger transferring to me.

  The man spoke up, softer. “Ms. Corcoran, we have questions we’d like to ask you about Jonathan Colby and we think it would be best done someplace other than on your porch.”

  “You mentioned that, but you never said who you are, so why should I invite two strangers into my house?” I looked from him to the woman. They realized their faux pas at the same time and whipped out their badges. The man continued to speak. “Ms. Corcoran, I’m Detective Williams and this is my partner, Detective Kimberly.”

  I looked at the badges briefly, noticing the pictures looked vaguely like the people on my stoop and the shiny gold shields seemed real enough. But I didn’t like how this began and I was still wary. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Thank you for showing me your badges. Do you have cards?” After they handed me cards, I scrutinized the information before I looked at them again. “I would be happy to answer any question I can, but my attorney hates it when I speak without her present. So I will have her reach out to you to schedule a time tomorrow that works for everyone. Goodbye.”

  I closed the door before my legs gave out and listened carefully to see if the detectives accepted my ploy or were sending troops to bust down my door and cart me away.

  ◆◆◆

  Annie arrived at Bleaker’s just as our burgers and fries dropped onto the table.

  Bleaker’s Deli was an institution in DC and owned by Annie’s uncle. We both had worked here during high school and still came back a few times a month to reminisce. Annie was my best friend and had graduated law school a couple of years ago but couldn’t seem to pass the Bar. She was studying for her fourth attempt now. I felt terrible for her. Annie was one of the smartest people I knew and excelled at everything she did, but she panicked when tested. She crumpled; froze. It didn’t matter the format; standardized test, long-form, oral—if she knew it was a test, that she’d be graded on her performance, her mind went blank.

  This first happened when we were eleven. Annie used to ice skate. She loved it. Her parents got her a coach who thought she was good enough to compete. They trained for two years before entering her in a regional competition. She was excited and I went to cheer her on. When it came time for her number, she skated out to the middle of the ice, a smile on her face, and took her starting position. The music began and she moved around the ice, her arms extended, preparing for her first jump. I saw it on her face; she wasn’t going to do the jump; she didn’t do any of the jumps they planned in the routine. She finished and skated off the ice into my arms, crying. “I couldn’t remember how to jump.” She sobbed in my shoulder.

  After everyone left the competition, Annie’s coach had her get back on the ice and played the music again. She did the routine flawlessly. Her coach said it was probably just nerves. They tried again two weeks later, and the same thing happened. The coach threw up her hands and dropped Annie. It was years before she was willing to skate again.

  After the skating debacle, Annie started having problems with quizzes and tests in class. She said she’d draw a blank. Her teachers tried various tricks to help. They knew how intelligent Annie was. All you had to do was talk to her; she knew all the answers but put it in a test format and she caved. Her teachers in high school passed her, even with the testing issues. It was a credit to her smarts that she figured out how to get through college and law school with a degree. But she was stuck on the Bar. There was no way for her to become a licensed attorney without taking that test, but she wasn’t giving up. “Fourth time’s a charm,” I told her.

  In the meantime, Annie had a paralegal job at a law firm downtown and she did great work for them, research being her forte. She agreed to help me answer the detectives’ questions today.

  We arrived early for the meeting, which coincidentally happened over Annie’s lunch hour. Annie verified with one of the attorneys at her firm that she could attend this meeting but couldn’t refer to me as her client or offer me direct legal advice; she was there to correct the officers if they misled me in their questions or inferred something I did was wrong. The attorney did one better and made a call to the police station to find out what the cops may want to ask me.

  “Okay, so here’s the gist.” Annie was not one to beat around the bush. “Jonathan was poisoned and they think you may have done it.” Did I mention that Annie was direct?

  I was about to bite into my burger but set it down, my appetite draining away along with the color in my face.

  “Okay, snap out of it. We don’t have a lot of time. Of course, you didn’t do it. As soon as you answer their questions, I’m sure that will be that.”

  She stuffed a bunch of fries in her mouth and chewed. Once her mouth was empty, she told me to lay out what had happened so we could anticipate any holes the police would latch onto. Annie plowed through her burger as I rehashed the events leading up and including the interview, leaving the room to check on the car and returning, CPR, EM
T’s, hospital, home.

  With my story complete, I forced myself to eat something, knowing it would help to soak up some of the acid I could feel swirling around in my belly.

  “Okay, sounds like something happened when you went out to check the car.”

  I nodded. “But what?”

  “Could he have had an allergic reaction to the makeup you put on him?”

  My eyes grew wide and my heart hitched. Could it really be my fault?

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. It was just compressed powder. Jonathan Colby gave interviews all the time. I use the same thing most crew’s use. If he’d had a reaction, it would’ve happened before me. “

  Annie asked if I still had the compact; if I’d seen it today or after the interview. I’d put it away yesterday before we started the interview and I hadn’t looked since; it went for the wet wipes container he’d used to wipe the powder from his face afterward. We hoped they wouldn’t ask about that until I could get home and check.

  Annie finished her burger just before the detectives showed up.

  She rose to greet them, shaking their hands, and they slid into the booth across from us. Annie told me I needed to appear unconcerned with their questions, yet troubled by Jonathan’s death. I tried to figure out what that would look like, deciding I was hungry after all, and if I casually continued to eat, that would be a distraction.

  “Good afternoon, Detectives. Hungry?” My uneasiness from yesterday returned as I looked Him and Her over. I refused to put their names in my long-term memory.

  Detective Him smirked and Detective Her scowled at my apparent flippant attitude. I held back a smirk of my own. I loved that I got under Her skin. I didn’t like Her. Him was okay.

  I wonder if I could request Her to leave? Probably not. Annie also told me to answer their questions in as few words as possible.

  Don’t offer more information than they asked.

  Detective Her pulled out a small notebook and leaned forward.

  “Katie, I hope you’re not going to waste our time; otherwise, we can take this to the station and ask you questions in one of our interrogation rooms.”

  WOW! I think I’ve seen the same TV cop dramas she had. Her even had the severe stare down. Who did it best? Cagney or Lacey? This time I couldn’t hold in the smirk and it was accompanied by a small laugh. I tried. Really, I tried. A man died, was probably murdered. I was a suspect and I was terrified somehow I could have prevented it. If only I hadn’t left the room. Maybe I would’ve seen what happened and stopped it, or if I got to him sooner, I could have saved a man’s life. It was a sobering thought. Add the stress of trying to appear like I didn’t care, when the opposite was so true.

  So I did try not to laugh, but Her was just too much.

  Her threw up her hands like a ten-year-old throwing a tantrum and opened her mouth. I expected her to breathe fire, but both Him and Annie jumped in.

  “Whoa!”

  “Wait a minute!”

  “Time out!”

  I kept my eyes down and chomped down on a fry.

  “She is not taking this seriously.” Her pointed a bony finger my way.

  Annie’s voice was stern. “I assure you, she is taking this very seriously, but you need to take it down a notch. We are here as a courtesy. You have no authority to drag Ms. Corcoran down to the station, and you know that.”

  Double wow. I haven’t heard Annie sound so professional before. And the way she emphasized my name, she put Her in her place. I wanted to smirk again but knew that would not be wise, so I tamped down the urge. For now.

  “Why don’t you ask her the questions you came to ask so we can all get on with our day?” Annie sat back and gestured to me.

  I made a big production of wiping my hands off and looking at them like I was interviewing for a job I really wanted. I saw Her eye twitch; she really didn’t like me. Well, the feeling was mutual. I turned away and addressed Him. “How can I help you?”

  Him looked around the table before clearing his throat. “Katie... excuse me, Ms. Corcoran, can you please tell me what happened yesterday?”

  I looked at Annie. I’d already told her I didn’t know what happened to Jonathan Colby, but I didn’t think ‘I don’t know’ would be a good answer at this time.

  Annie picked up the ball. “Can you be more specific with your questions, please?”

  Him looked back at me. “Why were you with Mr. Colby yesterday?”

  I sighed. Finally, something I could answer. “I interviewed him.”

  “Why did you interview him?”

  “I wanted to interview Senator Hart, but he wasn’t available. Jonathan Colby is his Chief of Staff and often represented the Senator in interviews.”

  “What was the interview about?”

  And so went the questions. Short questions designed to be vague enough to get me talking, maybe spill the beans about how I used the interview to trap Jonathan and kill him; my answers as short as I could make them without adding more than I had to.

  We talked about my documentary showing how our educational classrooms are adding diversity elements and technology to prepare our young for tomorrow’s world. I went to Senator Hart because the education lobby was one of the issues on his platform during his last election. Him asked about Mr. Colby’s attitude before, during, and after the interview. Was he stressed or look concerned, nervous?

  “No,” I replied.

  First time I was able to give a single word answer. During the interview, I was aware of Her watching me closely and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at Her.

  “What happened after the interview?”

  Again I looked at Annie. But before she jumped in, Him rephrased the question. “When you completed the interview, what did you do?”

  “I thanked him for the interview and went downstairs to see if the car service had arrived to take Mr. Colby back to the Hill.”

  “Had it arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what did you do.”

  “I went back upstairs to tell Mr. Colby.”

  “Tell him what?” Her decided to pipe in, just when I’d decided to ignore her.

  I looked at her pointedly. “To tell him the car had arrived.”

  I stared at Her, daring her to ask another stupid question.

  Him continued. “What happened when you told him the car had arrived?”

  “I didn’t get the chance.” I turned back to Him as I remembered what had happened. Jonathan Colby on the floor, then not breathing, then dead. I felt sick.

  Annie noticed and she leaned over, whispering, “are you okay?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice yet.

  “Why?” Him asked.

  “When I got back to the room Mr. Colby was on the floor; he looked like he was having a hard time breathing.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  I took a deep breath, hoping I could get through the next bit without crying. “I called 911 and the hotel to see if they had paramedics on site. I told Mr. Colby help was coming.” My voice hitched, as Jonathan’s face flashed before me, his eyes filled with fear, his hand gripping mine.

  “Then he stopped breathing. I couldn’t find a pulse, so I started CPR until the EMTs arrived.”

  My eyes had lost focus on Him, caught up in the memory.

  Annie’s voice drew me back to the table. “Anything further detective?”

  Him looked at Her. Her eyes never leaving me as she shook her head.

  “I guess we’re done for now.”

  They shimmied out of the booth and left Annie and me sitting there.

  It had been three days since the meeting with the detectives and I hadn’t heard anything further, so I figured I was no longer a suspect. I wanted to go to Jonathan Colby’s funeral, but it was delayed. Annie told me the coroner hadn’t released the body yet, which the attorneys at her firm found susp
icious. Criterion heard about the death and rumors were circulating the office about the cause, wondering if it linked to the troubles Senator Hart had last year. DC loved a good Beltway conspiracy. I hadn’t told anyone I was doing an interview with Jonathan and now I didn’t want the attention. I figured I would come clean after the gossip mill moved on. I still had a ton of work and several other interviews to conduct for my documentary, so no one expected a rough cut anytime soon, which was good since I couldn’t bring myself to watch the interview. I remembered some of the bites and wrote them into my script, leaving holes in the cut where I would drop them in later. I couldn’t avoid it forever. I’d given myself the weekend to shake it off then I would have to start cutting it into the edit.

  It was Monday and time to face the music.

  I loaded the files and dropped them into my source window to preview and make selects on the sound bites I wanted to use. The first minute of the video was just getting Jonathan settled and making sure he looked good in camera, adjusting the frame and chatting to put him at ease. He was laughing at something stupid I did, probably losing my pencil, forgetting I tucked it in my hair. It’s a tactic I’ve used before to get the subject of my interview to look at me and forget the camera is rolling. Tears formed in my eyes, and I blew out of my mouth, trying to get past the emotion. I focused on the interview. It was better than I remembered.

  Getting to the end of the interview, I sat back and watched the final bits with Jonathan. Again he was laughing about the powder and grateful I had wet wipes. He joked he didn’t want the office to get the wrong idea about him if he came back wearing makeup. I laughed, telling him it probably wasn’t the first time. Then I told him I’d check on his car while he finished up and I left the room.

  And the camera continued to roll.

  Holy Crap!

  My hand covered my mouth when I realized just what had been captured.

  CHAPTER THREE